Brotherhood
by Sayble
Summary: Trust is earned, not given.


**Noxian High Command**

 **District Block C**

 **Prison Courtyard**

 **1520 Hours**

 **10 years ago**

* * *

 **SUBJECT: MALCOLM GRAVES**

 **STATUS: INCARCERATION IN CELL 512_B**

 **CURRENTLY ESCAPING...VERIFYING**

 **THREAT LEVEL EVALUATED: INITIATING SHUTDOWN PROTOCOLS**

 **QUARANTINE ESTABLISHED...VERIFYING**

 **RETRIEVING QUERY... VERIFYING**

 **REEVALUATING PROTOCOL: INITIATING TERMINATION PROTOCOL OF SUBJECT MALCOLM GRAVES**

 **LETHAL FORCE AUTHORIZED**

 ** **COMMENCE MISSION****

* * *

He's tougher then he looks.

Everywhere I look, it's just more disfigurement. Scarring, burns, and cuts just crisscrossed everywhere.

I'm all too familiar with Noxian diplomacy. It ain't pretty.

It's a miracle he's still able to walk.

We're close to the front Garrison, though, not long before we hit the end.

For him that is... I have a score to settle.

But first...

"Hey...mind if we...stop...? I...I just need a moment."

It's the midget, he's breathing hard, doubled over on his knees.

We've been running for an hour.

One look and I can tell, poor bastard's running on fumes.

"Geralt, are you alright?" The other one, bandages wrapped around his head like a patient in some mental ward is quick to notice the irregular breathing.

"It's...it's nothing, I'm okay now." The fatigue is catching up, I can tell.

I deadpan across the courtyard and watch as more inmates flood out from the powered down force fields.

More fighting ahead, but the chaos is so thick that it's pretty much smooth sailing, so long as we stay ahead of the Noxian reinforcements.

Truth be told, I don't even know why I let these two tag along. All they've been doing for the last hour is causing one hell of a headache.

That, and they're slowin' me down.

For a second, I even consider leaving em' both behind.

"We ain't stoppin. If you can't keep up then you can't keep up." He looks at me, then nods, completely exhausted.

They don't stop running, despite the labored breathing.

But I slow down to a steady jog, despite my callous words, the patter of their footsteps eagerly trail not too far behind.

Life has shown me that the only person worth an actual damn is yourself, trust is just a temporary fix for a blindside that'll get you killed in the end anyway.

Anyhow, it's only repayment for the stunt he pulled earlier.

I probably wouldn't have made it out of the first block without the craziness going on at the garrison.

Never seen a Yordle move that fast, or that desperately for that matter.

Handy with a pipe, I'll give him that.

True, I already had enough strings pulled to get out months in advance, the riot was just a nice little distraction.

The shotgun smuggled in through a couple favors never hurt either.

Labored breathing lets me know that they aren't too far behind.

Still got some mileage left in 'em. A pity.

But we're gonna do a little more then just a midnight jog. This ain't no walk in the park.

The piece of metal in his hands catches my eye, those bandages wrapped around his paws like some kind of makeshift grip.

Heh, bet it doesn't weighs much more then he does, let alone be light enough to swing.

"You sure you can use that thing? Looks mighty heavy for someone of your...stature."

He isn't amused, that black fur of his stands on edge, anxious.

"Is... is that a short joke?" Huh... is it normal for Yordles to sound like that?

I reckon they did somethin' to his voice, too.

"Nah it ain't, but you sure don't look like you're tough enough to swing Noxian steel, let alone kill someone with it."

A pause.

"What's your name, kid?"

"I'm not a kid."

"Trust me, compared to my age, and the shit I've seen. You're a kid."

Another pause, I've stopped jogging, we're now standing in silence, save for the not too far off sounds of the riot.

"Well?"

...

He doesn't answer.

The other one waves meekly as he struggles for breath, thankful for the small reprieve.

That look in his eye, it reminds me of someone.

Long ago.

"I've watched you cut people down in cold blood to stay alive, with nothing but a damn sewer pipe, but that don't mean anything if you can't find a reason for it."

Another pause.

The next words come out as a whisper, barely audible even from this distance.

"I just want to get out of here."

 _We're getting out of this place alive. Whatever it takes._

It brings back something I've forgotten.

Compassion.

Brotherhood.

Betrayal.

Scrapping back to back in dirty alleyways.

The willingness to die for whatever the hell you believe in.

The tricky part is **not** dying.

It's all meaningless in the end, however, because everyone dies eventually.

"I'm pretty sure everyone stuck in this pile of shit does." The words come out a little harsher then I intend, but then again...

 _Trust is a harsh word, Graves, you don't get it for free._

"It's anger, the fury that burns in every person, no matter how big or small. You just don't get it." No words to respond, only a slight narrowing of those yellow

eyes.

 _It's what makes the world go round, rage is the fuel for this world we live in._

I spit out the cigar, long since extinguished in the hour spent running.

"Once you get out, then what? You're just some shell, no soul left."

The words sting, I can see it on his face.

A dead man walking.

"Wait...what do you mean...?"

"I'm saying that you're living a pointless life, ironic how all this fighting has made you more alive then you ever will be."

His eyes widen in realization as my words sink in.

"I am a somebody, and I'll never forget who I am." Hand tightens upon the hilt of his blade.

Yet his voice is uncertain.

Somewhere deep down, I know that he knows that it's true.

At this, the grey one in the back looks up, the conversation must have been a little more heated then I anticipated.

"What's going on, Veigar? Why's he looking at us like that?"

Dust kicks up on the concrete, the wind bristles my poncho in the midnight breeze.

"This is as far as I'm takin ye."

The dust begins to settle, I bristle under the cool midnight breeze.

A still silence as I stare down the boy in front of me.

"C'mon, we gotta go." I watch the other usher him away, one arm braced under his shoulder for support.

A low chuckle escapes my lips, a hand is put on the holster as I take a couple slow paces back...

"You said it yourself, there's no reason to keep on fighting, but you do." I relight another cigar from my pouch,

the flames bring a familiar sense of security as I snap shut the lighter.

"So why do you?"

But he's already halfway gone, the gray haired kid takes one last look at me...

A couple minutes is all it takes for both of 'em to get out of my sight.

Those two, they remind me a little bit of myself.

Better me then them, at least I can die with a clear conscience.

As clear as swamp water anyway.

All I can do is wait now.

...

"It's been a long time, cowboy."

That voice, it's unmistakable.

A black silhouette under the night sky, save for the flash of yellow that unmistakably comes from a tarot card can be seen from the corner of my eye.

"You let 'em go."

I can almost hear that stupid grin under the duster hat he wears.

But I don't answer.

Grounding my boots upon the concrete floor, I shift my weight to the back leg as I face my adversary.

Time hasn't changed him, though that stupid goatee just keeps getting longer.

"Mercy isn't in your character, you're going soft on me."

A grim smile plays across my lips.

"Or maybe that's just you gettin' senile, old man."

A pause, the inmates have moved on, only a still silence persists.

It's just us now.

"I reckon you know why I'm here."

I do.

But that doesn't make this any easier then it already isn't.

One look, that's all it takes to remember the things he's put me through.

"You traded me in for a bag of tricks. _Partner."_ It's impossible to hide the venom in my words, for it's been too long, and I've fallen so far.

Because of him.

His face remains expressionless.

Then again, poker faces were something he specialized in.

"It's only business."

Yeah, just like our friendship I reckon.

But I have no more words, we've spoken enough.

Wind buffets my poncho as we face off, my grizzled experience contrasts against his fancy gypsy clothing under the night sky.

The flash of gold as he draws a card, my eyes barely track the movement from under his sleeve.

"End of the line, partner." Eyes flash as I sweep back the poncho with my left arm, revealing the shotgun.


End file.
